


and then i was like (ficlets from tumblr)

by sorrylatenew



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Love Confessions, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 22:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8866480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrylatenew/pseuds/sorrylatenew
Summary: Indefinitely in-progress collection of little fics and snippets I post to my tumblr.





	1. "I think I- I think I want to try it?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one was done for a "first sentence" meme. Was given a sentence and wrote what comes after.
> 
> K/T | ~500 words | implied future fisting

"I think I- I think I want to try it?"

Patrick smiles, slow and pained, teeth biting into his lip. “Fuck you, Jonny,” he says, voice low while Duncs towels his hair fucking five feet away.

He can feel the flush coming up to the surface of his skin, making his eyes hot—making them a little wet, even, with how quick the arousal sets in.

“I just wanted you to know,” Jonny says, and his voice is low too, deep and doing that cracking thing that makes Patrick want to bend him over and fuck his ass ‘til he cries.

He goes a little unsteadily down onto the bench at his stall, toes off his flipflops. “Wanted me to know right now, huh?” he says, glancing up at Jonny, then away, but watching Jonny’s shoes edge into his line of vision as he moves in closer.

Neither of them says a word as Saader and Shawzy pass in front of them, still yapping about the high stick Shawzy took in the second, but Jonny gets even closer. Enough that he can curve his fingers into the two-pronged clothes hook over Patrick’s head, hang onto it all casual and loose, his weight shifted onto one leg, hip popped out.

“Been thinking about it,” he says in that same voice, maybe a little quieter now, hot on purpose. “Letting you open me up, get me there.”

Patrick wants to punch him. Or pants him and suck his cock down fast and smooth. It’s probably getting all thick and pretty in his shorts, snugged up in his boxers.

“Might not feel good,” Patrick says, playing along instead of doing either thing he wants, hands clumsy pulling socks over his shower-damp feet. “A lot of guys can’t keep it up.”

He’s not lying. Pat’s seen the porn—some of the really nasty shit, too. Guys getting their assholes punched, taking whole arms, completely blown out and sloppy and all of it with their dicks soft, flopping against their thighs.

It does make a kind of sense. It’s not even the weirdest shit he’s seen, and Jonny likes getting fucked after he’s already blown his load, all sensitive, Patrick guesses, riding the wave while Pat gets his.

“You’ll keep me there,” Jonny whispers, leaning into Patrick a little. He’s warm from his own shower. Smells good. “You’d make me like it, Peeks.”

And Patrick can see it—Jonny spread out in the summer heat, legs splayed wide and his asshole looking fucking perfect, Pat’s favorite little part of him. Pink and shiny with lube and ready for him to get into, stretch wide and slow and steady and _nice_. So nice.

God, he’d be nice.

But he’s still in his stall, and Jon’s still standing there, still pressed in close in the goddamn Blues’ dressing room, three hundred miles and, really, at least four months away from being able to do any of this at all.

Patrick pushes himself to his feet, knocks Jonny’s arm out of his way. “Fucking sit with Seabs on the plane,” he says, while Jonny’s smile quirks up the side of his mouth, real smooth. “I don’t want to look at your face.”


	2. Jonny hasn't seen Kaner in five years.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First sentence meme.
> 
> K/T | 430 words | sibling incest (they're half brothers)

Jonny hasn't seen Kaner in five years.

It’s what he's thinking on the drive over, with his hands pressed stiff and cold to the steering wheel, breath coming out in visible puffs of white.

He’s thinking _five_ years and also _I am not ready._

He’s not. It’s the truth. He is not ready.

Passing Walmart, he thinks, _I’m going back. Up here at this street I’m calling and I’m sick, I’m sick, I’ll say I’m sick._

No one’s shoveled the driveway yet when he pulls up. He has to turn around–try to fit his truck into the small space between his mother’s Tahoe and a piece of shit ragtop Sunbird with racing stripes on the hood and duct tape holding in the rear windshield.

He kills his engine. Watches the clock blink from 5:57 to 5:58. Breathes.

***

The Sunbird is Kaner’s. He says something about it while they’re eating, about it breaking down twice on his way to Chicago–just. Easy. All smiles and lazy limbs, sprawled out in his chair like he’d gone to a friend’s house for a night instead of halfway across the country.

Easy, easy, easy, like pulling Jonny into a one armed hug in the living room. Brief. Eyes giving nothing away.

Jonny’d forgotten, a little, how it feels to simultaneously want to call him out and keep absolutely silent, inconspicuous. Brother. He’s his brother. And their mom is there across the table, looking at Kaner like he’s going to leave again, in a way Jonny doesn’t think she knows she’s doing.

He doesn’t let it creep up from underneath onto his own face. Not right then. Not until later, when Kaner’s the easiest he ever gets for Jonny–before that, Kaner saying, “Where you living at now, Jon?”

And Jonny giving the answer, knowing what that’s about. Knowing exactly and _still–_

And then it is there on his face, and the please is on his tongue, and Kaner’s there above him, rocking against his dick in Jonny’s dark bedroom, in the house Jonny’s renting on Parks Street with the McDonald’s at the corner.

“Gonna fuck you so good,” Kaner says, which is too much, too familiar now, and Jonny still thrusts up for it, gets nice, hard friction for his trouble.

Kaner’s wider now. His shoulders are wider, and Jonny pulls him down by them, gets his arms caught up around his neck, gets his mouth on Kaner’s when he starts to whisper that he “missed this, missed this–missed you.”

Later still, when Jonny’s breaths are evening out and the please has settled somewhere deep in his throat, not as dangerous, Kaner says, _easy,_ “Come back with me,” pressing the words sleepy and close into Jonny’s ear.


	3. hotel sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of a WIP that might never see an actual ending. Putting it here for now!
> 
> K/T | ~1.7K | mention of object insertion

He says it in Dallas, way back in October. When they’re back in the game and back into winning and he’s right back here–with his legs pressed wide open in Kaner’s hotel bed.

It’s all so lazy. Slow, sucking, push-pull strokes of Kaner’s dick. Sinking in deep and then holding there. Nothing faster than bursts of punchy, bouncing shifts of his hips, like he’s trying to learn it again. Testing the waters.

Jonny doesn’t need it like this. It’s been a while since he had something this thick–a while since having a person attached to what’s fucking in–but he could lie back and take it. Get a little more lube and let Kaner go at him, easy.

It is good, though–like this. Being filled up and kept that way. Held open as long as Kaner wants him there.

He slides in real tight again just as Jonny’s thinking it. Holds and holds and cups his hands lightly over Jonny’s kneecaps, scratching a little with ragged fingernails, like he’s contemplating before he pushes Jonny further apart, so steady, until Jonny can feel the ache of the stretch in his groin.

He lets out a warning “ah!” sound when it’s right on the edge of too much, legs splayed so wide, and watches pale, pale pink spread out pretty over Kaner’s nose, the constant, wet little peek of his tongue catching light from the open bathroom door.

He pauses there, lets Jonny adjust to the pressure, and then rocks his hips forward some more–careless, easy bumps against Jonny’s ass, muscles working in his stomach.

Jonny can’t stop looking at him.

Not even when he keeps doing that weird thing with his jaw, giving himself an underbite, hands tightening on Jonny’s knees and his gaze intent where his cock’s disappearing. It’s so stupid, so dumb it makes something seize inside Jonny’s chest. Something like sudden relief, strange and sharp, overwhelming enough that it makes him want to sit up and hit Kaner across the face.

He just says, “Come on,” with his skin zinging, and closes his legs some. Hooks his feet around the backs of Kaner’s thighs to pull him in.

It’s abrupt, and it tips Pat forward so he has to steady himself to keep from falling over, huffing a breathy laugh while his hands move from knees to the sensitive insides of Jonny’s thighs.

“You don’t like what I’m giving?” he says, tilting down, bending Jonny in fucking half to tease his mouth with a kiss he doesn’t actually dole out. Only a light little pass of his tongue–Jonny’s own too slow to reach it–before straightening up again.

He lifts an eyebrow, spreads Jonny’s legs wide wide wide, and then pulls them around his hips like it’s what he wanted, his smile all pleased about it, broad and crooked.

Jonny rolls his eyes at him and still can’t shake the feeling in his chest.

“Don’t start,” he says, reaching up for Kaner’s arms to pull him back down. To get the heat and solidity of his chest pressed against Jonny’s own–to get his shoulders somewhere he can feel them, spread his hands out over them.

Kaner denies another kiss, keeps his mouth in brushing range only. “Start what?” he says, darting the tip of his tongue against Jonny’s, the quick warmth of it like a weird connection to the way his dick’s still fat and hot filling Jonny up.

Jonny closes his eyes at the feeling, tilts his head back against the pillows and squeezes himself around Kaner–all of him–his legs and his arms and his hole, _tight_ until Kaner lets out a thick, throaty moan and drops his forehead down against Jonny’s collarbone.

It’s a rush to get him to react like that. A flood of liquid heat tingling through Jonny’s belly, sending his dick kicking between them, and he squeezes again, in counterpoint to the hard, compact grind _in_ that Kaner starts up.

“Come on,” Jonny repeats, whispered this time with his mouth against Kaner’s hair, and then moaned out, long and too loud for where they are when Pat pulls back, pulls Jonny with him–pulls his ass up into his lap and does him that way. Fucks up good and hard and firm, the solid, thunking smacks of their skin getting Jonny all overheated, face flaming up hot.

It’s ridiculous, the way it feels. The way it’s a little bit too much. A little bit of sting in the press of Kaner’s fingers into his skin–in the achy throb of his back and in the effort of clutching so tight, holding on and moving with it.

The rhythm of it makes it feel like it goes on longer than it actually does, both of them with breath caught furious and strained in their chests until Kaner’s slowing his pace, fingers slipping through the sheen of sweat over Jonny’s thighs.

“So good, Taze,” he says, deep and slurred out like he’s drunk, accompanying a long, languid stroke before he pulls back and plasters himself over Jonny, reaching up and to the right for the bottle of discarded lube. Jonny rocks with him while he pops the cap for more wet, rocks their dicks together and hums at the slide and how stiff Kaner is against him.

He buries his face in Jonny’s neck once his fingers are slick, kisses him there while he moves his hand down to rub over Jonny’s asshole, working him in tight circles without pressing anything in, just spreading it around. “Always so good,” he says into Jonny’s skin once Jonny’s hips are moving on their own, up into his touch, into the pressure against the emptiness just inside.

He keeps on like that, dipping right over where Jonny wants him and then back out to go on circling.

“Gonna tell me when I’m getting it, Jon?” he says in a hoarse half whisper that takes Jonny a second to process, and then he dips the very tip of a finger in, not even to the first knuckle. Presses it up in the direction of Jonny’s balls and keeps doing it, letting him feel it.

“Gonna get it myself if you don’t get going here,” Jonny says, more breathless than he’d like, and Kaner’s humming amused before the sentence is even finished–a low, appreciative sound while he slips the finger all the way in, gets a nice, slow rub going once he’s there.

“Oh yeah?” he says, and lifts his head to stare at Jonny’s face while he pushes another finger in alongside the first, and then a third in right after, no purpose for it except he likes it, having Jonny on his hand like this, focused in on it.

“That’s pretty hot,” he goes on with that smile on his face, in his eyes when he slips all three fingers almost entirely out and then solidly back in, fast as he probably dares, and Jonny knows Kaner gets what he’s looking for when he tightens his ass up on him, thighs going tense.

He leans in to get at Jonny’s mouth for real, the pink of his cheeks a little brighter than before when he kisses him through that smile. “Would you do it like this?” he says, fingers moving right up into Jonny’s prostate–right _there,_ bright and hot, and Jonny pulls his mouth away, slides it open to Patrick’s ear.

He can only breathe for a few seconds while Kaner rubs him over, makes him shiver with how right he’s getting it, but then Jonny’s smiling too, whispering low into the wet curls at Kaner’s temple, “You’d like to know, huh?”

Kaner laughs at it, like he’s all amused again, but it’s a quiet thing, and the sigh he releases after is shaky, long and drawn out, his fingers stilling, and then his face is in Jonny’s neck once more while he pulls them free, fumbles messy between them and then lifts his hips to line his cock back up.

He rubs the head at Jonny’s hole like he can’t help himself, back and forth and then in a soft circle, like his fingers before, and when the pressure gets heavy, the push forward insistent, Jonny says, “Would you?” on a gasp, and Kaner groans like he did when Jonny squeezed around him, cusses and bottoms out.

It gets too good again. Too good to talk again after that. The kind of fucking that doesn’t look pretty–Kaner getting up on the balls of his feet, his face screwed up like he’s pissed at how fucking nice it feels, and Jonny imagines he can’t look any better, arms pressed firm as he can get them against the headboard to keep it from knocking into the wall.

When it gets this side of too much–honestly too much–Jonny must make some kind of sound because Kaner slows down when it hits that point, expression softening into something more like being high than angry, and Jonny uses the narrow space between the slow-down and Kaner starting to roll his hips to catch his breath, legs aching and loose.

He touches himself on his belly, absently at first, but then with more purpose when his fingers veer into the drippy mess of his pre-come.

It’s a lot. Nothing new, but a lot, and, “Jesus,” he whispers when his index and middle fingers are dipped in the shine of it, tacky and sticking when he taps them just under his navel.

He keeps going when he sees Patrick’s eyes caught on the sight–has to strain his arm to reach, forehead creased, but he gets his hand down there. Down where he’s burning up and even slicker with lube, filled and stretched around Kaner’s dick.

“‘S’why I need to get it myself sometimes,” he says, blazing up with a blush so red he has to swallow against it.

Kaner closes his eyes. Opens his mouth like he’s gonna say something, but only moans out this weak little sound and breathes.

“Miss your cock so bad, man,” Jonny presses on, his own breath coming faster, and Kaner says his name like a warning, stops the motion of his hips entirely, but Jonny only hitches against him, still touching down around his rim.

“I don’t even have anything,” he whispers, and trails his hand up to slip under his balls, press in tight to the skin there. “Fucked myself with a fucking hairbrush wanting your dick, Kaner.”


	4. confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [allthebros](http://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebros/pseuds/allthebros)' little "get well soon tazer" fest. She gave me a quick prompt--the word "confession."
> 
> K/T | 1.2k

There's something weird about the air in his lungs that night.

It's a thing Patrick will remember about it later, when he thinks back to this--to them starting up for real--that there wasn't anything out of place he would've been able to point to, nothing in particular that spurred it on.

A 1-0 win against Colorado, a little ugly. Cameras in his face about Scotty's save in the last five minutes, standard. Hanging back in the dressing room just a bit longer with the guys, watching the Epix crew pack up--not as usual, but not unusual either right before their Christmas break, film people and all.

He stands there feeling that way though--full inside while Hoss talks to him about shitty Chicago-to-Slovakia Skype attempts. It's like something's happening, or going to, simmering underneath before Jonny's even registered as anything more than the steady background buzz he seems to regularly occupy inside Patrick's brain.

Patrick doesn't even notice he's walked over until Jonny's right in front of them, stopping for a smile and a solid thump against Hoss' shoulder, but still in motion, already moving away before, "Hey, guys, have a good christmas," has completely left his mouth.

He smiles at Patrick too, plucks quick at his jacket sleeve, casual, before he's taken long strides towards the doors and disappeared through them without waiting for Patrick's chance to return the sentiment.

And he guesses he could point to that--blame it on Jonny, except that this isn't new or weird either.

Patrick gives himself half a minute to slip out of conversation, lifts a lazy hand above his head to the rest of the room, a flick of a goodbye and, "Hey, merry christmas, guys," and he's gone too, pace normal and then just a little faster when there's no one around to see him.

The whole walk down he isn't even sure whether he's hoping Jonny's still there or already gone.

He slips his hands in his pockets. Slows himself up, just in case.

The tail lights on Jonny's Tesla are shining red when Patrick makes it out, and the car gives a fast lurch backwards but halts completely when Patrick is close enough to pass through Jonny's line of sight.

He keeps going for a few feet anyway, like he came out here to leave too. Stops when he hears the electronic hiss of a window rolling down, smile on his face that he doesn't fight too hard against until he turns around, lungs expanding, scarier this time.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," Jonny says back.

Something about his expression looks amused and easy, mouth set in a smooth line, but Patrick knows how to do that too. Walks over, takes his hands out of his pockets and leans both against the top of Jonny's car door.

"You getting outta here?"

It's a stupid question he asks on purpose, and Jonny takes it how Patrick wants. Stares at him for a second, shrugs one shoulder. "Nah, figured I'd just stay in this parking spot for the holiday. Nice view."

"Yeah? What's that--gonna lessen your carbon footprint?"

That gets Patrick a slow nod, a quirk at the corner of Jonny's lips. "Mmm. You're a funny guy."

"That's what they say."

The lone, high, derisive little note of a laugh Jonny lets out makes Patrick smile, makes him want to skip this shit and just--

He sniffs to keep from having to wipe his nose, looks away, then back. "What time's your flight leave?"

"Couple hours."

"You're gonna be dead tomorrow, man."

"Probably. Used to it by now though, eh?"

Yeah, he's used to it. They both are. And they're used to this too. Dancing right up to the edge of this thing and taking a few steps back.

Patrick pushes off from the car and then leans right back in, forearms taking the heft of his weight this time, body pressed in closer this way. "When you coming home?" he says, because he needs a second here, just a few more.

"It's not gonna be a long trip." It's dry, but Jonny also sounds a little less amused, staring up at Patrick while Patrick stares at the edge of his hairline. He looks at one of Jonny's ears. His mouth. Back to his eyes.

"I wasn't planning on this," he says. There.

In his head it sounds like a whoosh of air, breathy and nervous. He has no idea how it actually comes out. This time Jonny's the one to glance away, brings up a too-quick, clumsy finger to trace the emblem on his steering wheel, then reaches over and fiddles with the heat. Turns down his already barely audible music.

"Planning on what?"

"Saying anything," Patrick answers, and doesn't add the _ever_ that he thinks. "I know it's bad timing. But I feel like--" He doesn't know. He still doesn't know. Still thinks, in reality, that they'd both probably be fucking happier if they just kept their heads down and made bank until their knees didn't want to push them across the ice anymore. Still thinks there's an overwhelming possibility that this isn't going to be worth it. But he wants to see. He doesn't think he'd be able to stand it if he never found out.

"Kaner."

Patrick hasn't looked away, but the word grabs his focus, zeros him in on Jonny's face, the sliver of sudden urgency in his downturned mouth. He sticks his arm out and rests it along the window's edge like he would if he were on a lazy drive. Touching Patrick without reaching out to touch him. 

"I gotta be at the airport," he says like an apology, or maybe like something a little desperate, something hysterical.

"I know," Patrick says, hurried. That feeling from before turns awful then, thick. Flies up in him like it'll lift him off the ground. "I'm not--I don't mean for you to stay. Seriously, man, go. I just felt--"

But Jonny interrupts him, still looking at him the same way, eyes wide. "Hey," he says, his one hand on the steering wheel white-knuckled. "Don't--just, hey. Just tell me when I get home, okay?" He wets his bottom lip, one quick swipe of tongue. "Tell me when I'm back."

Patrick didn't think he was going to get anything less than this--didn't think anything at all--but times before, when he'd imagined--he always knew this was gonna be a sure thing, so he doesn't know why he goes liquid with relief, fucking numb in the legs with it.

There's a beat, and he pushes away from the car a final time, hands back in his pockets because it's fucking cold in here, because he doesn't know what to do with them. "Alright," he gets out. It comes out fine, he sounds okay. 

Jonny pulls his arm back inside but doesn't roll his window up, watches Patrick walk backwards a couple steps. "Seriously," he says, and looks worthy of his stupid nickname, eyes fixed until Patrick nods, agrees,

"Yeah, I will, Jon."

He starts to pull the car out then, twists himself around to watch the space where Duncs is parked near, mouth hanging open.

It's a weird thing to feel any kind of way about, but he does. Patrick feels a lot of things about it.

"Hey!" he calls when Jonny finally starts to put his window up, and he stops, looks back over.

Patrick presses down the unlock button on his key fob, hears the Hummer off to his left. "I'll pick you up," he says, takes another step backwards. "Text me, alright?"

"Yeah," Jonny calls back. "I'll let you know."


End file.
